Mass Effect 2: A Matter of Trust
by The Shepard's Right Arm
Summary: Really, though, growing up on Omega should have hardened me into an ice-cold bitch that doesn't give two shits, or even one. I just had to make the mistake of caring about some stranger, though, and before you know it you're on a damn suicide mission. M for language, sexual content, and violence. Follows the plot of Mass Effect 2.
1. An Offer of Business

Hey, people! This story is also available on my Ao3 account: /works/782820/chapters/1581894

Introducing my _Mass Effect_ OC, Glenn, and her adventures. The first in a long series..._Mass Effect_ isn't mine, I'm just playing in BioWare's sandbox. Review and comment, and thanks for stopping by to read!

An index of the main characters of this installment can be found here: art/A-Matter-of-Trust-Character-Index-376166079

* * *

_Just wait here, munchkin, we'll be back._

_ We'll be back._

_ Just wait here…we'll be back…_

_ Wait here, munchkin._

_ Just wait here._

_ We'll be back._

_ We'll be…_

"You're Glenn?"

I have to stifle a gusty sigh at the voice behind me. "What of it?" I wince; the reply comes out snappier than I meant it. Part of me doesn't give two shits about how I sound to people that talk to me when I'm nursing my end-of-day headache with alcohol and exotic dancers (though some would argue the pounding lights and noise in Afterlife would be counter-intuitive). Story of my life, really. Can't stand the establishment, can't do without what's in it. Let it never be said I come for anything other than illegal liquor imports and blue asari ass.

Sweet, blue asari ass.

Really, though, growing up on Omega should have hardened me into an ice-cold bitch that doesn't give two shits, or even one. Still, though, that one damn memory that comes back to me every time I close my eyes- I'm sure that has to be what's responsible for my anxiety, the scared little girl (munchkin) that's still desperately looking for _some_one's approval. Sure, grown-up, hardassed Glenn has completely stopped caring. Munchkin, well. Munchkin is the name of my 600-gogelbyte list of inhibitions.

So, "What of it?" I snap, and wince. Because it sounds _impolite. _It gives me brief pause; usually I'm automatically pissy at everyone just because everyone on Omega's mean-spirited when they talk to you (golden rule, you know, treat people the way you want to be treated, except, due to a streak of textbook narcissism a mile wide, I skip that entirely and assume everyone else is keeping it in mind) - but the voice that had just addressed me sounded off in that regard. It was…nice. Humane and friendly in that sort of way you only hear with A) pimps or B) right before someone shoves a knife between your scapula. I didn't get a knife, which left the pimp, but the guy behind me was a very unsuccessful pimp if he was working the profession- very poorly dressed, obviously short on credits. Kind of a hottie, though. Briefly I considered _jigglo_, but even the bad male prostitutes were cleaner than he was. Plus, the unsightly scars on his lips were a bit of a turn-off.

"No thanks, buddy, I prefer to have mindless sex with the ones that can't get me pregnant," I told him. Trying to be funny, something I've tried, sometimes succeeded, oftentimes failed at.

Scar lips gave me a condescending look. "What? I'm- I'm not here to have sex with you."

"Well, good, cause the answer was no." I spun around in my seat, crossed my arms at him and lifted an eyebrow. "You look both out of place and focused on…whatever it is. I assume that's why you're talking to me?"

"I asked for the best hacker and information broker on Omega." He waved a hand at me. "They told me to go to you."

"Aw, flattering." I stirred the paper umbrella in my drink. "So it's business you're here to talk about. Well, normally I'd be happy to oblige, but I'm nursing my end-of-day migraine and most of my higher brain functions have been devoted to scoping out who I'm going to be banging tonight, but I'd reconsider depending on the goods." Sipped, casually, from said fruity drink.

Scar lips shoots me a searching look that gives me the odd compulsion to stand at attention. Maybe he was military? His hair was just the right length of "not going to be bald but pretty damn close", and, well, scars. Built like an Adonis, too, not like anyone in this century knows what an Adonis even is. It only took humanity three decades to forget its roots. "What do you mean, 'the goods'?"

I drained the last of my cocktail out the straw. "You already answered your own question, soldier. I'm an information broker. Obviously if you're looking for me, you've got something to fulfill transaction for my services. At least, I _hope _you do, because otherwise this has been a complete waste of my time."

"I might have something," he said, blue eyes narrowing even further into little slits. "How'd you know I was a soldier?"

"You just told me." I snorted. "Come on; soldiers are easy to spot here, you can see the stick up your ass a mile away." I slid off the stool. "Now, if you've got the goods I've probably got the service. Take this somewhere more private, you read me?" Obligingly, he followed me, away from the pounding music and the flashing lights, into the sour streets I called home. Well, not like I had much choice; they were all I'd ever known.

"So what brings a soldier out here? You undercover for the Alliance?"

"Ex-Alliance. I…you can say I retired."

"You mean you deserted."

"How'd you get that?"

"You just told me, genius. And you're too young to be retired. And only deserters come to Omega. You're hiding from the brass."

"You sheltered many deserters?"

"I help them disappear, if they can afford it. I've learned a lot of dirty secrets about the Alliance." I shot him a look over my shoulder. "I could start a war."

"Brilliant," I heard him mutter, behind me.

"I know, sometimes I impress myself."

"If you're so impressed, why don't you ever go ahead and do it?"

I rolled my eyes. "God damn, soldier, ever heard of 'just because you can doesn't mean you should'? I have nothing to profit from setting Earth and whoever else at each other's throats. Some people might jerk off to body counts and explosions, but I'm not one of them. Did you desert, or did they discharge you for dumbassery in the line of duty?" I dodged into a side alley, walking past a few batarians and resolutely not making eye contact. "Still; age-old saying, knowledge is power. People like power, I'm no exception. Besides." I stopped at the door, pulled up my omni-tool and implemented the access code and retinal scan. "Keeps me off the streets and out of the brothels, that's a victory in itself."

He followed me inside.

"You live here?" he asked, looking around at the wall-to-wall monitors.

"Yep," I said. "One sec while I check for bugs, explosive ordinances, and tech interference." I pulled up the scan. "And don't look at anything too closely, or I'll have to kill you." He folded his hands behind his back and stared stoically ahead at a rare space of blank wall. "All right, we're clear. Power down," I said, and the monitors obligingly shut off. The lamps came on, and a soft orange light filled the room. I spread my arms, gesturing about. "Welcome. Everyone needs a home base, right?" I sat down on one of the leather chairs, crossing my legs and folding my hands, elbows on the rest. "So, soldier. What've you got for me?"

He sat across from me, pulled up his own omni-tool and punched in a security code that I had catalogued and filed away in a second. "You know Archangel?"

I snorted. "Course I do, there isn't a soul on Omega who hasn't. The merc groups want to kill him, the freelancers want to be him, and Aria T'Loak's got her panties in a wad trying to deal with him." Chuckle, slightly. "Course I know Archangel."

He turned his arm; I leaned in, looking at the files that started popping up. "I've got my suspicions about Archangel's identity." Pictures, first, a turian- looked like a Citadel cop, with light blue face paint and a sniper rifle in hand. "I might have known him, if it comes down to it."

I scooted forward, starting pulling files onto my own interface. "And what do you want me to do?"

"Run a match," he said. "I know you don't have much to go on, but if you could run this with what you know…"

I took the files, stood and crossed to one of the terminals. "Power on, XA1." As the screen flickered to life I punched in the files, throwing them up onto the right of the UI and then pulling up all known data on Archangel on the other side. "Well, he _is _a turian. Can't ID the face; he's always wearing his helmet. _But_, he is wearing C-Sec colors, indirectly. A bit obscure, but it could make a point." With a flick of my fingers I scrambled Scar lips' data and that of my own, and pulled up security vids from a slavers' ring he'd busted. I froze the frame and lined up a shot of the C-Sec cop- "The build, though, it looks about right. Height's roughly the same, stance looks similar." I flicked through more footage, scanning rapidly with my eyes. "And he favors a sniper rifle; looks like your guy did too."

"It was his baby," confirmed Scar lips, watching seriously over my shoulder.

"Then, that's all I can really get on him, unless…" I paused suddenly, catching the hint of a voice in the feed. "Reverse and hold at 64.9, sharpen midground sound, jam ambient noise."

It wasn't much. A snippet, really. But it was something: "_Bastards. Look at this. Despicable._"

Scar lips' breath seemed to force out of him in a _whoosh, _and he stepped dazedly back.

"That him?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," said Scar lips, quietly.

I collapsed the files, stored them under the secure sections of my server, and allowed myself a victorious little smirk. "Well, there we are. The great Archangel unmasked. Garrus Vakarian, ex-C-sec, hailing from Palaven. Spent a few months on the SSV _Normandy_ SR1, disappeared in the weeks following Commander Shepard's death in action." I turned back to Scar lips. "So, wait. You said you knew him. And you're Alliance. So-"

"I was on Charlie's crew." He winced. "Commander…Shepard's." he looked up at me, an almost-mournful look in his eye. "She was my sister."

I faced him a while, unblinking.

"I was on the ship, when…" he shook his head. "The brass dealt with it so badly. First they wanted to cover it up. Then, they wouldn't even allow us a proper service. We never got her body back. We had a private memorial service, just us, her crew. A few weeks later, Garrus disappeared. No notes, saying where he'd gone. Nothing. He just vanished. Paxton- our other sister, the youngest…she was heartbroken. They'd been close, and, I think it hurt her when he left without saying goodbye." He shook his head. "I've been looking for him ever since."

I blinked.

"Well. That's a sad story. Maybe it worked on the poor sap who hitched you a ride here, but I'm feeling nothing right about now." My fingers tightened suddenly on the armrest. "And you. You said you're doing this for her sister's sake, but if you're all she has left, what does it make you that you're abandoning her too?"

_Just wait here, munchkin._

He hung his head, fiddling his hands together uncomfortably, guiltily. "She's…on Illium, working with an old friend. I've been sending her letters…she thinks I'm on Feros, helping out a colony we saved a while back." He looked back up at me, brows knitted back together. "She doesn't know where I am. Or what I'm doing. I…didn't want to bring her into harm's way."

"She can't handle herself, is that it?"

"No, she can. Best biotic I've ever seen. One of the best, anyway. I…didn't want to get her hopes up." He sighed. "She really cared about Garrus. I wasn't sure there was any hope. Now…"

"So what are you planning to do, Mr. Shepard?"

He looked down at the floor for a while, eyes suddenly deep and intense, brows furrowed, thinking, hands wringing.

"I'm gonna find Garrus. I'm gonna punch him in the mandibles. And I'm gonna drag him back to Illium and remind him what's important. Playing vigilante here…I don't know what homage he's trying to pay for Charlie, but she's been gone two years now. It's time to let go of the dead and focus on the living."

I crossed my legs again. "You do realize I'm the only one who can probably track this guy down in the field? I'd like to see you try running forensics, much less taking him alone in a fight."

"It won't come to a fight."

"All right." I crossed my arms, and waited for the catch.

"But I'll need you to get me there."

I sighed. "Knew you'd say that. All right, what's in it for me?" I stood, hands on my hips.

"Adventure. A good fight. I'm sure we'll have to fight someone."

"Right. What if I don't want to? No one can fault my excellent sense of self-preservation."

He stepped back, crossed his arms, and quirked half a smile. "Quit playing hard to get. I'm going, and you can come if you want. Just tell me yes, or no."

I rolled my eyes. "Right, fine." I stood up, powered off the terminal. "I'm going with you to Illium, though. It'll be fun to see how this hellcat sister of yours reacts to Mandibles showing up after two goddamned years. _Ha, _God, I haven't had a good laugh in a while. Just don't think you're gonna be a cooler biotic than me, I run this sector," I told him, gesturing about in a circle.

He frowned at me. "How'd you know I was…?" Then, he stopped himself, nodding to himself. "I just told you."

Smirk. "See, you're catching on." I walked by him to my door, punching in the code to my locker and pulling out my trusty carnifex. "Amp jack, Mr. Shepard." I headed out into the streets again, Scar lips trailing slowly behind me.


	2. A Simple Matter of Tech Sabotage

_Hello, readers! I've been surprised at all of the positive feedback. Keep it coming! I feel obligated to cover my backside and state that I don't own the situations, characters, and...bla bla bla. Glenn is mine, though, so don't use her without permission- but feel free to ask if you can draw art or throw her into your own story for a cameo appearance! I'll gladly loan her out. :) Enjoy these next few chapters!_

* * *

Finding the way to Archangel was easy, probably the easiest bit of any of it. The Blue Suns were running a recruitment booth back at Afterlife, signing on anyone with a gun to come take him down.

"If the Pack, the Suns, _and _the Eclipse are after him, they're more desperate than I thought," I commented, sliding into line. "And they're not being picky about the freelancers they're signing. Your buddy Garrus has done a bang-up job pissing people off."

"Well, we're getting him out," muttered Scar lips back to me. "Then, we get the hell off this damned station and set a course straight for Illium."

"Which you realize is Omega in expensive shoes, right?" I deadpanned.

He sighed at me.

"A wretched hive of scum and villainy," I drawled, "-wrapped up in a silk bow."

Scar lips made no reply.

"Come on, nothing?"

"Hmm?" he tore his eyes away from- whatever he was looking at- which turned out to be a sleeveless Suns guy, flexing to show off his new ink.

"Pitiful needlework," I muttered, examining the poorly-drawn design from afar. What was so goddamn special about a barbed wire bicep tat, besides the fact that you may as well have inked 'I have no imagination' into your arm?

"What, you were saying something?" Scar lips pressed, rubbing a reddening neck and sneaking another quick look back.

"Wretched hive of scum and villainy?" I repeated. "Come on, old Earth vid. 1970s."

Scar lips shot me an incredulous look. "You watch two hundred-year-old vids?"

"Everyone needs a hobby," I shrugged, "And clearly, yours is taking it in the ass."

Immediately he spluttered- "What?"

"Come on," I drawled, "There's asari ass hanging out every which way and you decide to eyefuck the hunk over there? My gaydar's going _BEEP BEEP BEEP BOTTOM THIS BOY IS A BOTTOM_."

"Shut up," he muttered, resorting to the age-old childish cross-arms-and-pout, reddening.

"Oh, God," I started to giggle. "You are _so _gay."

"I'm not justifying this to you."

"You don't have to," I snorted, "I like dicks just as much as you do. But, _Shep-_" I bent over, wheezing. "You've got to embrace the _rainbow_."

"You're childish."

"Keep it up, you know, people might just think we're a couple," I straightened up, grinned, linking our arms. "I'll be your beard," I told him, eyeballing the stubble mapping his jaw. "Obviously you're having trouble growing your own."

"You know, you remind me of this guy I served with once-" he groaned, mopping wearily at his face.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I sighed, leaning on his shoulder. "Did he have a better beard than you?"

"No," he snapped, looking resolutely away from my best moon eyes, sighing. "Yes."

I snorted, jabbed him in the side, and progressed to the clerk. It was our turn. The batarian looked up and raised a- flesh above top left eye…thing? "Weeeell, aren't you sweet. You're in the wrong room, honey; strippers' quarters are that way." He jabbed a thumb to his right.

I pulled my pistol, juggled it a little between a few fingers. "Show me yours, tough guy. I bet mine's bigger."

"Impressive," he conceded. "Same as everyone else- you'll get paid when the job's done, you'll need your own weapons and armor- looks like you have that covered." I replaced my pistol, flicked an imaginary speck of dust off the shoulder of my coat and straightened out the inky leather tails. "And this does not make you a member of the Blood Pack, Blue Suns, or Eclipse. You are a freelancer, period."

I crossed my arms, and Scar lips moved up behind me. "Where do we go?"

"There's a transport depot outside the club," the batarian provided. "One of our guys will drive you out to the barricade."

I nodded. "Right, then. To the barricade!" arms raised, lively point, aggressive stance, _aaaaand _silence.

"If that was a reference," Scar lips told me, "I missed it."

I let the arms go, sighed. "Story of my life."

As we left, someone else was coming in- a scruffy kid with a beanie, a pistol tucked into the front of his pants. "Is this where you sign up?"

I was inclined to keep going, but I stopped when I heard Scar lips' voice. "Aren't you a little young to be freelancing as a merc?"

"I grew up on Omega!" the kid protested, in a whiney eighteen-year-old voice. "I know how to use a gun!"

"Enough to get yourself killed," I muttered, briefly rolling my eyes.

"Besides, I just spent fifty creds on this pistol, and I want to use it-" Scar lips took it from him with ease. "Hey!"

"Get your money back." With a trained eye, Scar lips smacked a misaligned magazine and popped a bad heat sink, shaking out the sparks and handing it back with the safety engaged. "Trust me."

As we left, I frowned, looked up to him. "What'd you say your name was again?"

"Shepard," he told me, "John Shepard."

"Right," I said. "Right, John, okay. Short and sweet. Easy to remember. John."

"Let's go, Glenn," he said, ignoring my bullshit and leading out towards the transport hub. Huh, he was learning fast.

The driver waiting for us by the cars was yet another batarian in a Suns uniform, quadru-eyeballing our approach.

"You the getaway driver?" I questioned. "Don't answer that. I'm not stupid, I know what the job is. Quid pro quo. Human make joke, ha ha funny."

"I just met her," sighed John, resignedly gesturing, "in the bar."

The driver grunted. "Ain't that the truth." John climbed in beside me, the batarian into the front, and a moment later we were lifting off and pulling away. "About time they actually sent me someone who looks like they can fight," the driver commented. He set us down a ways away from the familiar echo of gunfire off the steel/meteor trap that was Omega, gesturing down the tunnels. "Archangel is holed up at the end of the boulevard. The only way in's an extremely exposed bridge," he turned back to us. "It's a killing ground. A lot of people've died that way already- but he's getting tired, making mistakes."

"Right, so, the plan?" I pulled my pneumonic visor out of my pocket and locked it around my ears. The interface flickered to life, targeting all heat signatures and pinpointing weak spots and flaws in defenses. The batarian had a crack in his armor on his right side- the appropriate strike would spear his lung with a shard of his own breastplate. The first barricade behind him was hinging on one sturdy crate- knock that out and the whole thing came crashing down.

"You should find Sergeant Cathka," the batarian concluded. "Just down the tunnels."

I took John by the elbow, tugged him through the first barricade, turned back. "Is your gun loaded?"

He patted his side. "All three of them."

"Good man." The visor picked up a large group of people in the next room, and I ID-ed the symbol on their yellow plates when we rounded the corner. Eclipse. Omega's Eclipse- Jaroth's Eclipse. Perhaps in another life I walked right through that room and didn't talk to anyone, but Jaroth looked up and spotted me instantly.

"Glenn," he said, sitting back, regarding me with his bulbous eyes. "Have you come for Archangel as well, or are you here to hack our servers again?"

"Your own damn fault your code was so simple," I retorted, spreading my arms like Aria T'Loak's liked to do when she told newcomers 'I _am _Omega' (happened two to three times a night in Afterlife). "Jaroth. Eclipse. Good to see you again. And no, I'm not here for your intel. It sucks. And not the fun kind." Jaroth bristled. "Besides, I've already gleaned what useless crap I could from you guys. No, me and my buddy here are for Rapunzel up in his defensive turret."

Jaroth shook his head at me. "Jona Sideris screamed my hearing out over that," he muttered. "However, she also told me to double the previous offer. Twice the pay; and a position as a high-ranking officer. You'll be given your own unit, and a- what is it humans say? 'Corner office?'" watching aliens with three fingers do the finger quote thing humanity had brought to the galaxy was particularly entertaining; in being so they could only do the _doot doot _with one appendage.

John whistled lowly, crossing his arms. I rolled my eyes. "You don't know the first thing about negotiations- first; you're making it quite obvious you're desperate to have me-"

"I know that _I_ don't have to waste the time screwing around with you pandering humans!" he was out of his chair in a second, knocking it over, putting us nose to nose. There was the click of John training his gun on the salarian and the Eclipse training their guns on John-

I waved him off, looked directly to Jaroth, giving myself a moment. My visor helpfully informed me it would be tactically advantageous to punch Jaroth in the eye. "Pandering, huh?" I said, soft, quietly readying the crackling corona in my hand. "Well, I digress; sometimes we do indulge in knocking around a few racists." I jammed the hand into his gut before he could react, throwing him back against the wall with a loud clank. Two asari went to his aid, and I turned to leave without another word.

"What was that?" John asked, trotting after me on really long legs.

"My biotics," I replied, "throwing people against the walls." I looked at him. "Oh, you mean the salarian bastard? Jaroth, leader of Omega's Eclipse. We've been at each other's throats for years now; I can't kill him, because then I'd have Eclipse after my ass, and he can't kill me, because his boss wants him to recruit me. I'd rather drink a cup of acid after chewing on a razor than jump in with those bastards, though, so we're pretty much locked into an eternal standoff."

John looked at me, bewildered, when I hooked a turn into a storage hall. "What's this?"

"Eclipse heavy mechs," I told him, stepping up to the terminal. "And…now their IFF is screwed. As soon as they deploy this baby they're gonna be in for quite a surprise. Come on; don't even talk to the Blood Pack. Just keep walking."

"Filthy humans!" a vorcha in red hissed after us. We didn't reply.

The Suns were at the last barricade before the bridge; the Echo infiltration team standing guard around a small gunship. "Cathka?" I questioned, and the first one jerked his thumb behind him. A batarian rose from the guts of the gunship (the funship, I liked to say), turning off his welding torch and turning his visor to transparent. "_Sergeant_ Cathka," he told us.

_Some_body was touchy about his undoubtedly small dick.

"You're the freelancers Salkie radioed me about," Cathka remarked, after looking us over. "You know what the plan is?"

"Try not to die," John confirmed.

"Good man," Cathka said, pointing a wrench. "You're the distraction. Stay alive long enough for the Echo Team to go in." John and I exchanged looks, and I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my trench coat. "You going in with them?"

He looked back to the gunship, shaking his head. "No- I just make the plans and fix the gunship." He paused, listening intently to his helmet. "Echo Team, deploy now!" he called, and the squad that had been standing guard around him picked up their guns and headed out to the barricade. He watched them go, looked once more to us, and flicked his visor back to the opaque. "Which means it's time for you two to go- and no more waiting for me." he turned back to the gunship, bending to pick up the welding torch again. "Tarak wants her back at a hundred percent before he takes her out again."

It happened all in the space of five seconds: a blue spark from something on the work table caught my eye- an electrical jargon, used for soldering wires and other things, still crackling with visible charge. Five hundred volts, easy. One twenty to the heart to kill a human. _And how many will drop a batarian, I wonder? _I stepped up, took the thing up carefully by its insulated handle, and strode the negotiable distance to Cathka's bent back. "You're working too hard," I told him, and jammed the sharp end between his shoulderblades.

The batarian led out an echoing scream as the amps raced through his bloodstream, pouring the watts into his heart and dropping his jerking corpse on the ground. John made a vague noise of disgust behind me, and I crouched by the body to pull the jargon back out, take his visor and put it on, and flip open the weapons systems.

"What are you doing?" John asked me, lowly.

"Best I can in thirty seconds," I replied. "Timed detonation; I'm not sure exactly how long it'll be, but less than ten minutes after they put this thing in the air it's gonna blow apart starting with the fuel tanks." I finished wiring the timer, locked the encryption software, and burned the control panel shut. "And they can't get in there to fix it." I swung back out of the cockpit, heard, distantly, the sound of men dying in the distance.

John craned his neck. "Sounds like the infiltration team are getting their asses handed to them," he remarked.

I drew my Carnifex. "Never a better place to hide than in a shitstorm. Let's go."


	3. While Observing a Meeting of Old Friends

_And here's another chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

When we vaulted over the barricade, we both locked into a combat mode; everything hyperfocused around us and we settled into a sort of dance, a deadly rhythm, a noxious beat, and from the first moment I could tell we had a beautiful chemistry. He shot, I swung; he yanked the Suns out of the air with a solid pull, and I put holes in said Suns gangster. Our biotics meshed seamlessly, complimenting each other, triggering massive explosions that knocked the rest of the infiltration team back to the wall with heady crunches.

One sniper rifle's shot _zing_ed right through John's pant leg. He shied away instinctively away from the bullet, glaring up at the balcony where the helmeted turian was scoping with a Widow. "Dammit, Garrus," he muttered.

"There's a possibility he doesn't know it was you," I put in.

"There's a possibility that he might have _had_ to, seeing as she shot me in the pants," John snapped, throwing up a biotic barrier. "Let's get up there."

I added my own strength to the shield, and together we crossed the remainder of the plaza, hiked up the stairs and raced around the corner into the mezzanine with our guns drawn.

Archangel turned to face us, but he lowered his rifle almost immediately. He set it down, in fact, by a pile of crates, reached up and pulled the helmet off, dropping it by the boxes and taking a perch upon them. Facing me was the turian from the files; Garrus Vakarian.

"Shepard," he said, acknowledging John. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to say the same to you," John said, through his teeth, stepping up and leaning in close. "Do you have any idea what I've been through tracking you down? Deserting the Alliance, following you to the biggest pisshole in the galaxy, hiring a goddamned information broker to run a match on you-"

"Hi," I said, "Don't think we've met." They both ignored me.

"I didn't ask you to follow me here," Garrus growled back.

"I didn't do this for my own sake, if it was up to me I'd let you rot here," John snapped. "I came for Paxton."

The name gave Garrus significant pause- his eyes widened, mandibles twitched. "…Paxton?" he parroted (What? Turians look like parrots.), in a small voice.

"Yeah, her," John snarled, whipped around and paced a short distance in my direction. His shoulders sagged suddenly, then tensed. "You broke her heart, Garrus. You left without a fuckin' goodbye. That's a new level of shitty, even for you."

I didn't know puppy eyes until Garrus Vakarian made them. "I…I didn't think she cared."

"Didn't think she _cared_?" John whipped around, glaring him down again. "Garrus, would I track you to the ends of the civilized galaxy if she didn't care? You hurt her. I came to get you, and drag you back. I don't even know what all this is for," he gestured around.

"Uh…guys?" I spoke up, gesturing back at the barricade.

"It needs to stop, and you need to remember what's important. You need to come with me to Illium. That's where she is now. You're gonna apologize, goddammit, and I don't ever want to see your sorry ass again-"

"Guys!" I barked, "Can we have the pissing contest later?" the both of them whipped to me and noticed the Eclipse pouring into the plaza.

"Heavy mechs!" Garrus announced, rolling into a sniper's crouch.

"Should take care of itself," I muttered, kneeling behind the wall. "Looks like they know their little infiltration team failed."

Sure enough, as I saw, the heavy mech whirled on its hinges as soon as it was deployed, and began firing on its captors. The Eclipse scattered, screaming, and in the chaos- before some engineer finally had the good sense to overload it- most of the yellow-plated men (including Jaroth) were gunned down. From there, it was a simple matter picking off the survivors and delivering a sizzling headshot to the YMIR that had it shuddering sparks and blowing suddenly and violently up.

There was a brief second of peace as we all scanned the plaza, before John straightened up and spat, "I know what your excuse is and I'm gonna preemptively call bullshit. Charlie might have been your mentor and this might be your way of honoring her memory, fine, but she's dead. She's been dead two years. Don't you get it? It's no damn good if you're forgetting the living to boot."

Garrus had no answer for John, he just avoided his eyes- I, for one, had heard enough. "Look, can we save this for the ship to Illium? Right, you've got a past and whatever, but I for one have no idea what's going on or what you're talking about…" I sighed. "And we've still got two merc groups on our asses, so- put it on hold, okay?"

As with all man fights, a simple break of eye contact was enough to return them to their senses. "Right," sighed John, scrubbing at his forehead. "Eclipse is out of the equation; that leaves the Suns and the Pack?"

"Garm might be dumb enough to charge the barricade," I said, popping the heat sink on my pistol.

"Then again, maybe not," muttered John, drumming his fingertips on the ledge. "I've fought with krogan warlords before. They're damn crafty when they're not in a blood rage."

"True," I acknowledged. "Well, that batarian Tarak- certainly desperate enough; and he's sure to have noticed Cathka's dead by now. He's gonna be desperate."

"He has the gunship, regardless of full repairs or not."

"And I set the explosive timer on that one, don't forget," I noted. "We'll only have to hide in cover until that blows."

John frowned at me. "You're sure it's going to work?"

I propped my hip on a weapons bench. "I ID-ed your friend here. Trust me. Someone tells you impossible, you send it to me."

Garrus' eyes went distant, lost in thinking of something else, perhaps. "Which leaves the Blood Pack," he said, breaking his trance and standing up. He towered a full foot and a half over me, maybe two. He cocked his rifle suddenly, eyes narrowing. "It's been quiet too long. Something's up."

I cocked my Carnifex, tuned my ears for suspicious noise.

As if to confirm our suspicions, a sudden rattle that sounded like it'd come from below. I gestured to the others to stay put, and crept ahead on silent feet learned from streetside espionage. There was an outbreak of yells and gunshots- the thud of bodies smacking against the metal walls of the back passages. A shutter door slammed closed. I peered over the edge of the railway for a vantage point- there were more yells, the crackling sound of shields overloading at once. Then, the panicked screams and crackles of living things on fire. Then, the screams were cut off with several shots. A few low voices. Silence, the flames dying down. Then-

The door was struck once, groaning at its hinges. The yelling resumed, several guns opened fire, and an enraged krogan burst through the door headfirst, shotgun borne to breast in full blood rage.

"Charging krogan!" I called, and that was the last thing I got out before something huge and heavy smacked into me, throwing me back against the wall. The world swam in and out of focus, a slight warm sensation came over me as it all started fading to black.

There was a murky voice, two bulbuous black eyes hovering over me. "-going out," a grizzled growl came through, not belonging to the owner of the eyes, I thought. It was hard to think with the void yawning at the edges of my vision. The eyes moved, another voice, higher, said something about, "-di-gel: will not solve head trauma, but will help until proper examination can be administered."

"All right, all right," the grizzled voice muttered, and a sudden cooling sensation on my forehead brought everything back into sharp focus. The lights were too bright, the smell of smoke and burning bodies made me want to puke, and there was a splitting ache felt acutely through my cranium that made me groan and curse. I wanted the warm nothing back.

"Registering pain," said the eyes, which I saw to be a salarian in a lab coat, one of the appendages on his head somehow lost, like an elephant short half a tusk. "Good sign. Damage likely not permanent. Should regain major motor skills soon, hopefully, otherwise extraction…problematic."

"Slow down," I groaned, hiking myself up into a sitting position. "Holy hell," I grunted, massaging at my head, wincing. "That krogan hit me like a skycar."

"Skycars don't shoot back," said the grizzled voice- who turned out to be a man in yellow-plated armor that appeared to have had half of his face grafted back on after some untold horror. "And they don't come in for another round."

"Who are you?" I questioned, using the potted plant to get unsteadily to my feet. "How'd you get in?"

"Took the back ways, took care of Blood Pack, closed shutters behind us," said the salarian, gesturing at the now-sealed back door. He paused, looked me head to toe, and extended a three-fingered hand, an off-white orange color. "Professor Mordin Solus. Xenoscientist."

"Glenn," I said, shaking it. "Hacker, info broker."

"Had a feeling it was you," said the grizzled graftee, who possessed a pair of mismatched eyes to boot and a head of (likely premature) grey hair. "Glenn, Omega's Shadow Broker."

"Believe me, the Shadow Broker's alive and kicking in this sector," I replied, shaking his hand as well. "I've worked with him before."

"Yeah, but you get your own hands dirty, and that's something I'll respect," said the graftee, as he let go of my hand. "Zaeed Massani."

That was when it clicked. "Jen Bond's Zaeed Massani."

"The very same," he growled (his voice was really just a growl), spitting onto the ground somewhere to the left. "Tomcat mentions you an awful lot, when our work brings us together. Closest godam thing she ever had to a sister, from what I hear."

I snorted. "Ah, what have you. Jen took care of me when I was too little to do it myself. I get her the intel she needs. I owe her a debt I can never really repay, but I try my best."

Zaeed chuckled. Mordin paused, turned away and pressed one finger to his ear (saying ear, because I don't know what salarians call them) piece, listening. "Yes. Tunnels are clear. Lock is overrideable with squad protocol. Have identified three friendlies. Two are on list. Last one matches Shepard's service history. Personal, too. Yes, will do so. Copy, out."

"What's going on here?" I asked, "Obviously you aren't here alone. How many others are there?"

"Three others," Mordin told me. "Introduce me to cohorts? Simple identification; must check for safety."

I blinked. "Well…Garrus and John are over there," I said, starting back that way. "Hey, guys, these are friendlies! Mordin Solus and Zaeed Massani, three others coming in through the back way."

John and Garrus emerged from behind their cover, an overturned gogelbyte storage unit. Four blue eyes and one Kuwashii visor peeped up at the newcomers before straightening up.

"Archangel," said Mordin, as he approached. "John Shepard. Pleasure to meet you."

"Is the lack of the personal pronouns just a constant thing?" I muttered, to Zaeed.

"Is the godam pope Catholic?" he questioned back, and I grinned. "Catholic, or Cerberus?"

"What have you."

"You said there are three others," Garrus pressed, "Where are they now?"

"Approaching current position."

"How did you know my name?" John cut in, brow furrowing.

Before the salarian could formulate a rapid-fire military brief answer, the door slid open below. Three sets of footsteps, distinctly human-sounding (could be asari) pattered up the stairs, and then the three faces appeared to us up on the pavilion. There was a woman in some very shapely N7 armor, who cut a rather imposing figure in her obscuring helmet, offering nothing but piercing blue eyes that looked suspiciously familiar. The two flanking her- an equally shapely woman with a catsuit and a tall black man in black leather medium-weight armor; both bearing the unmistakable Cerberus sigil, had a typical cronie-thug about face surveying us. Obviously they knew who we were already, and that was unsettling- that meant extensive background research, and there was no record on me but the word on Omega- and that came back to the Cerberus logo on lady-cronie's right boob.

The N7 figure removed her helmet, tucking it under her arm, stepping slowly forward. "John?" she said, in a mildly stunned voice.

"Charlie?" said two voices as one (three, if you counted Garrus' flanging subvocals), incredulous, weapons dropping loosely to sides.

"Garrus!" Charlie said first, dropping her helmet on an upturned shelf and jogging forward. "What are you doing here?"

"That's what I was here for," said John, intercepting her approach. "And I guess I could ask you the same thing." Charlie seemed to deflate, and John continued, "You've been dead for two years, Charlie. I was there, I saw the _Normandy_ blow, I heard later from Joker about how you got spaced. The Alliance declared you killed in action."

"The Commander _was_ killed in the Collector attack on the _Normandy_ SR1," lady-cronie informed us, revealing a decidedly Aussie dialect. "The Lazarus Project recovered her body and rebuilt her."

"Collectors?" was John's first question.

"Collectors, great mystery of the Terminus systems," I provided. "Rarely ever emerge from their home beyond the Omega-4 Relay; when they do it's to do business, then they disappear again. They're the only ones who can use it; all the other ships that go there are never seen or heard from again. You said they attacked your ship?" I looked to Aussie, crossing my arms.

"It is the job of an info broker to be informed," she acknowledged, stepping closer with a tantalizing sway of the hips. "Yes; the Collectors were behind the initial attack on the _Normandy _SR1; and the reason we're here now. Whole human colonies are being abducted, and we've learned that they're behind it."

"I'd heard about that," John murmured, rubbing thoughtfully at his scruffy jaw. "The abductions. And these…Collectors are behind it?

"And for what we know, they might be working with the Reapers," lady-cronie finished, looking smugly at us (smug seemed to be her default).

Mordin spoke up. "Collectors were behind plague- cut a deal with vorcha, affected all species. Except humans."

The gears started turning. "And the humans are the only race the Collectors are abducting. Obviously, there's got to be a reason they're rounding just that one species up." I started pacing. "What did you say about Reapers?"

"They might be allied with the Collectors," Charlie said, then paused. "What do _you_ know about Reapers?"

I shrugged. "I'm an information broker, it's my job to know things. There's the legends common to every galactic race," I ticked off, "more importantly, the things the great Commander Shepard unearthed in her pursuit of a rogue Spectre." I faced said commander, continuing to list the pieces- "The geth are not an organic race. They _have _no impulses, they run on code, pure logic. Therefore, it makes no sense that they would follow an organic like Saren. Then there's the matter of that behemoth that attacked the Citadel. It could have torn up all the ships there and then some if the Fifth Fleet hadn't showed up. And it _would_ have. That was no ordinary ship. No one alive possesses the kind of technology to build something that powerful. Either there's some other mystery species floating around in dark space, or these things are self-aware. I got so many deserters after that; and they all told me the same things." Finally, I tapped the fifth point. "In addition, the Council hushed it right up after the fact, and when the government shuts something up, you know it's important. I have enough of their classified files to know there was definitely more going on than they're letting on." I crossed my arms. "The Reapers are dangerous. And if they've allied with the Collectors, for any reason, we've got big trouble."

A beat of silence followed, punctured by a low whistle from Zaeed.

Charlie stepped forward. "John, Garrus," she said, "You were there with me. You saw everything for yourself." She turned, then, solely to her brother. "And you were there when the Collectors turned the _Normandy _to rubble." She gestured to the three of us, in a wide arc. "I'm building a team. You were on the Illusive Man's dossiers. He's sending me after the best of the best." To Garrus, and John again. "And there's no one I'd rather have on my side, than you. You were my team. You had my back in the beginning."

Garrus was completely entranced, but John still looked doubtful. "I don't know," he confessed- "Cerberus, Charlie?"

"Are providing our resources," she said, firmly, making lady-thug fix her with a somewhat irritated glance. "They spent more than four billion creds to bring me back. They rebuilt the _Normandy_. The Council refuse to acknowledge the Reapers- for now, Cerberus is on our side." She uncrossed her arms, and stood at ease. "And I'll be clear- you'll be taking your orders from me. Not from Cerberus."

"Just like old times," Garrus said, pulling the turian equivalent of a smile.

I cleared my throat, half-raising my hand into the air. "Either way, we could move this discussion to your ship…?" I gestured around the plaza. "This isn't a good place to negotiate."

A sudden barrage of gunfire startled us into grabbing our guns. _I won't say I told you so, _I thought, cocking the hammer and training for targets. "ARCHANGEL!" bellowed a batarian's voice, magnified a thousand times over. The Blue Suns' gunship materialized first, and we dove into cover as the machine guns fired. "YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY FROM ME THIS TIME." Garrus poked his head out of cover, lining up a shot to the cockpit, where Tarak sat on his rickety throne. Just another second, he started to squeeze the trigger-

Tarak was faster. Or perhaps not aiming. But a rocket fired from the gunship and caught him clear in the left mandible. With a roar of rage, John leapt from cover, taking male-thug's grenade launcher and lining it up with the swaying gunship.

"Timed detonation!" I screamed, over the roar of the engine.

"I'm not waiting that long!" he bellowed back at me, and he fired off three explosives at the ship, catching it at the tail, the left wing, and the fuel tanks. A barrage of incendiary ammo lit it up, and I turned in time to see Charlie lowering her assault rifle, and then back to the gunship as the entire structure rattled, and shook before the hinges shuddered, groaned, and blew in a violent firestorm.

The others were already rushing to Garrus' side, his left side turned to the floor, an alarming spread of sticky blue blood rushing out onto the tile. _Hemocyanin, _I thought, dimly, _makes it blue, not like ours, hemoglobin-_

"Joker, get the _Normandy _out here, ASAP!" the commander was barking into an earpiece, and Mordin and lady-cronie were turning the turian onto his back, babbling about pressure application and bindings. "He's not gonna make it," growled Zaeed.

Garrus was choking on his own blood, gurgling frantically- my translator was struggling to understand something, and I shut it out, leaned down by his head and listened. That choking- that was garbled turian, I realized. He was saying something, eyes fixed widely on me. He was aware, at least, I had to keep him on our side of the veil. I knelt by him, listened to the litany until I could understand- "_Vultis dimittere me, Paxton_?" _Will you forgive me, Paxton?_

My turian probably wasn't that great. I had to think before I could answer- "_Si non moriamini, Garrus. Vos vivet propter me. Me tenuistis._" _Not if you die, Garrus. You've gotta live for me. Hold on for me._

Garrus went quiet at that, rattling, gurgling breaths taking over for his frantic words. But his broad chest pushed on, and he kept staring at me. His hand crept across the linoleum and I gripped onto all three fingers, squeezing as hard as was humanly possible. "_Non moriantur in me stolidae turian._" _Don't die on me, you stupid turian._

"Still holding on," announced Mordin, sounding surprised. "Keep talking."

I was running out of turian. I improvised. "_Bosh'tet. Stolidae turian. Me tenuistis, _you little shit."

The hovering of a shuttle came in behind us, and they lifted Garrus inside, still gasping, gripping onto the edges of life with all six claws. I stayed with him, talked to him, cursed him to whatever hell turians believe in and back, and gripped his hand until they put him under.

It was after that, when lady-cronie approached and recommended I wash the blood from me- "Always a good idea, but your conflicting body compounds could be dangerous." She directed me to the womens' bathrooms, dropped a towel inside and backed out to give me my privacy. "Welcome aboard, Glenn," she said, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

_I used Latin for Turianspeak. Because...space Romans._


	4. An Extended Business Offer

_I bring you another chapter! Remember, it's Bioware's. Just a little bit of development and exposition in this one. Enjoy!_

* * *

Showers were a bit of a foreign concept on Omega- theoretically you know how they worked, but it's not like you'd ever in your right mind attempt one. Dropping the soap in prison would seem like a walk in the park compared to Omega, so the station is permanently perfumed by the unwashed masses. At most I would get a sponge bath every few days; just enough to keep from getting sick. Disease might be a thing of the past in Council space, but a lot of ugly pathogens still patrolled the anarchical…anarchy-esque? Anarchistic? Anyway, the lawless streets of Omega were a breeding ground for germs.

My first shower, consequently, was on the _Normandy _SR-2, in the women's bathroom on the crew decks. Somewhat hesitantly, I stripped down, out of my long leather coat, the dark green tank and camo-print cargo pants, knee-high combat boots; and left them by a small shelf. A voice broke in as I was untying my hair, pulling off my marksman's gloves and underthings. "Your garments can be cleaned in the armory, Ms. Glenn."

I jumped, looking for the speaker; who had a very soothing female voice that was easy to trust. Which immediately made me suspicious. "Sorry?"

"I apologize, Ms. Glenn. I am not physically present in your vicinity. I am the ship's Artificial Intelligence. The crew simply refer to me as EDI."

"Ee-dee?" I pronounced, eyeballing the ceiling. "Ah…okay."

"Your garments can be attended to by the ship's armory officer, Mr. Taylor," EDI reiterated. "The armory is located adjacent to the tech lab in the CIC. One floor up from your present level."

I nodded, a few times. "Okay. Uh…thanks, EDI."

"You are welcome, Ms. Glenn."

"Hey," I called up to the ceiling, thinking, _great, you're finally cracked, Glenn, talking to the voice in the walls. _"Just…Glenn, is fine."

"Certainly, Glenn. Logging you out."

_Cerberus, working with aliens. And an AI on board? They must be more desperate than I thought_, I mused, stepping up buck naked to the shower head. There weren't any buttons in sight. "Uh…water on?" I tried, on a hunch.

Instantly the water switched on, spraying me in the face. I stepped back, spluttering, then migrated tentatively under the stream again. It was warm, perfectly so, and like nothing I'd ever had before. Imagine that; showers, a luxury not afforded until the age of twenty-six.

The water ran off murky blue, dirt mingling with Garrus' blood and washing down the drain. I used a super-strength soap on a nearby shelf, some sort of hair product for curls (I was no beauty queen, but I did know my hair was an absolute rat's nest of curls), and I scrubbed until I was as clean as I'd ever been in my life, my skin standing out stark white against the black of my ink.

The tattoos (all acquired at once, if anyone was doubting my badass card) were like a hybrid of tribal patterns and tiger stripes- broad patterns, stripes, needle-thin lines and perfect circles; each side mirroring the other, running shoulders to wrists, clavicle to waist, scapula to arse, hip to ankle. They were needled in to caress the natural curves of my body, following the narrow of the waist and the curve of the hip, flanking my well, flank, and sliding beneath my breasts like an underwire (and I didn't understand what all the bitching was about the dreaded underwire, but maybe the A-cups can afford to bitch and forego; when you wear a God-given C there's little you can do.)

When I had finished showering, I donned a borrowed tank and pair of running shorts, padding barefoot up to the armory, by EDI's instructions, to deposit my clothes. "Where is everyone?" I wondered aloud, and almost jumped out of my skin when EDI answered: "Mr. Taylor, as well as Commander and Mr. Shepard, are in the briefing room. Through the door to your right. It is clearly marked in the adjoining hallway."

"Right," I parroted, feeling that I needed something else to say. "Ah…thank you."

"Certainly, Glenn."

I found the briefing room as EDI directed, occupied by a harassed-looking Charlie and tired, dirty John. Male-thug from before- Mr. Taylor, I knew now- was standing by the handrail, arms crossed in a familiar-looking position. "Glenn," he said, standing at attention (he looked like he did that a lot, so I didn't make much of it), "Jacob Taylor. Good to meet you, officially." He shook my hand. "We need to brief you."

"What's the status on Garrus?" I asked instead, ignoring him.

Charlie and John raised their heads from their quiet conference to listen in on the answer.

Taylor shrugged. "He's holding on. Whatever you said to him…Dr. Chakwas and Professor Solus are doing their best. Last I checked, Miranda said it looked tentatively promising." He shifted to an at ease. "As for the brief…"

"Let's not and say we did," I cut him off. "Go check again."

Jacob paused. "We'll need-"

"Go on, Jacob," said Charlie, sounding exhausted, rising slowly from her seat by the rail. "I'll talk to her. John?"

"I'll go down and make the rounds," John stood a bit quicker, taking the hint. "Familiarize myself with the place." The two men walked out the door and left us alone. I drummed my fingers on the rail as the door closed behind them. "I tried to get a look in on my way up here. The windows were tinted out." I shook my head, marginally.

Charlie was eyeing me, now, with a certain curiosity. "I didn't know…was it turian, you were speaking?"

"Had to improvise, threw in a bit of quarian at the end-" I gestured. "Yeah, turian, quarian; I learned a good bit of foreign language. Had some training outside of Omega. I'm no linguistics expert, but I can get by if my translator ever glitches, or something. Guess I can't be good at everything." I shrugged.

Charlie leaned on the handrail, across from me. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail; a bit of a departure from the tight bun I'd always seen in the vids. Guess this technically wasn't a military vessel, there weren't any hair regs dictating "off the neck or off with its head". She had the same blue eyes as John, I noticed, and the same outrageous cheekbones. She had taken off the N7 armor, I'd seen it in the armory on a shelf awaiting its servicing, and donned a dress set that looked like it was meant for the commanding officer. She fixed me with her piercing gaze, across the rail. "Whatever you did…I want to thank you. It's tentative, like they said, but I'm fairly comfortable saying you saved his life."

"This is gonna be awkward if he doesn't pull through."

"He will," said Charlie, mouth ticking up at the corner. "Damn stubborn turian, that one. If he were going to die, I would know. I would feel it."

I straightened up a little, looking resolutely at the handrail. "He…was looking for validation. He mistook me for someone, someone John mentioned- Paxton?"

Charlie nodded. "Our sister. We're triplets, if you hadn't guessed; Paxton is the only one you haven't met. Slight build, looks a lot like me, darker hair. She and Garrus were…close." She lapsed into a spacey flashback for a moment before snapping out of the trance and returning her focus to me. "He was looking for validation, he thought you were Paxton?"

"The missile took him in the face; can't say much for how good his eyesight was right about then." I shrugged. "I don't know what told me to, but…I didn't give it to him. I told him I'd never forgive him if he died on me there. I guess it worked."

Charlie thought that over, nodded a few times, slowly. Then, she moved suddenly, standing that little bit straighter, a brief glimmer of humanity's finest showing through. "Well…I should introduce myself. Properly. Commander-" she started, then reconsidered. "Charlie Shepard," she told me, holding out her hand for me to shake. It, like her face, was crisscrossed with scars like fault lines, where skin didn't quite graft together. "Welcome aboard the _Normandy_."

"She's a nice little frigate," I admitted, shaking her hand. "The lateral drift's gotta be nice. Though, I looked around down in engineering and I saw you might get occasional heat venting from the number sixteen lithium heat sink. And I thought I saw a bit of a pressure loss in the number four hydrogen tank…?" I trailed off, shaking my head and pinching at the bridge of my nose. "…sorry."

There was a sudden sigh over the intercoms. "Baby, I love it when you talk dirty." I eyeballed the ceiling, delivered my best stinkeye to the nearest camera. "You know, where I come from, the creepers would do you the grace of showing up to watch you."

"Yeah, except I get a free pass for being a cripple. Commander; if these are the kinds of people the Illusive Man is sending you after; I can't wait to pick up the next one."

Commander Charlie Shepard sighed, smiling resignedly at the ceiling. "Helm the ship, Joker."

"Yes, ma'am. Send up your sexy new friend when you're done briefing her. Or, you know, thonging her. I'm not picky."

Commander Charlie Shepard sighed lightly, lips pressing thinly together in an effort not to smile again. _Don't encourage him_, her pose clearly stated. "Is he always…?" she nodded at me. "That would be our helmsman."

"I gathered." I propped a hip up on the table. "So. You told me your Illusive Man sent you out to Omega to find a few people- me included. And you told me you're building a team for which purpose you have yet to disclose. It's not like I've never been off-planet before." I paused. "Off-station. Shoot, Charles."

Commander Charlie Shepard leaned on the table, fixing me with the blue eyes I already knew. "I'm going through the Omega-4 Relay," she said. "I'm going to hit the Collectors where they live. I'm going to find out why they're abducting human colonies- and I'm going to stop them, even if it kills me. Again."

The silence hung heavy in the air. "So it's a suicide mission?" I deadpanned.

Commander Charlie Shepard sighed, nodded, dropping her eyes to the table. "The chances of survival are…slim."

I cocked my eyebrow at her. "Certainty of death? Small chance of success?" I shrugged, marginally, pulling a sideways smirk. "What are we waiting for?"

Charlie paused before she hesitantly smiled back, and shook my hand again. "Well, I'll say again- truly, this time- welcome aboard."

"Glad to be." I looked around. "Any place for me to stay? Any place…specifically away from other people?"

Charlie considered. "We have a bit of space in the surveillance quarters. Enough room to put up a cot and a bit of space for personal belongings. I can have your data and files pulled to the terminal there."

"That'll do fine," I said, with a nod. "Thanks. I'm just…"

"Private?"

"Not a…people. Person. Hell, I don't know, I was always better with varren."

Charlie was still deciding if I was joking or not when Jacob reemerged, John in tow. "Commander," he said, saluting, "I have a report on Garrus' progress."

Charlie turned to him, standing a little straighter. "Give me the word, Jacob."

"Well…" he scanned his feet. "They've done all they can…with the standard bio-restorative procedures, and some cybernetics…we don't know if or when he'll be fit for active duty-" he was cut off by the opening of the door, and the arrival of Garrus. The cowl of his armor was punched clean through on the side where he'd been hit; the mandible ragged and a bandage covering that entire side of his head. But he was alive, and on his feet.

"-tough son of a bitch," Jacob finished, as he strolled inside. "Didn't think he'd be up yet."

"You don't know our Garrus," John replied, grinning.

"How bad is it?" Garrus questioned, looking to the two Shepards. "They wouldn't give me a mirror."

Charlie leaned on the handrail, cocking an eyebrow and a dry smile. "Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap on some face paint and no one will ever notice."

Garrus started to chuckle, then stopped with an abrupt noise like a cough. "_Ow_, damn it, don't make me laugh. My face is barely holding together as it is." He strode a little farther inside, brushing slightly past me. "I _have_ heard some women find scars attractive. Granted, most of those women are krogan…"

Charlie shook her head. "Good to have you back. That is, assuming you're on…"

"For the long run, Shepard," he agreed. "You know I'm with you."

"Good," she said, smiling. "There's no one I'd rather have walking into hell with me."

"You realize this plan has _me _walking into hell too?" his undamaged mandible flapped, exposing a toothy, fangy grin. "Just like old times."

Quietly, (as was my specialty), I slipped out of the briefing room, leaving the old friends to their banter. I'd meant to turn back into the armory, but I realized when the door opened that I'd mistakenly wandered to the tech lab. Mordin Solus was washing his hands at a sink on the far end, and he looked to find me standing paralyzed in the doorway.

"Sorry," I said, "Wrong room. Still finding my way around, you know?"

"Glenn," he said, apparently uncaring about my lack of direction. "Information broker, yes?"

"Hacker, cyberwarfare, what have you." I shrugged. "I'm a bit of a jack of all trades; master of none."

Mordin inspected me. I got the feeling he wanted to dissect me. "Glenn has also demonstrated an extensive knowledge of the operating of a ship," EDI came in overhead.

"Yeah, and it's hot," chimed in Joker, the helmsman.

"Helm the ship, Joker," I called to the ceiling, hoping it was a sentiment exhibited frequently enough to get the point across. I heard nothing from him after that.

"Also exhibited interesting skills, when on Omega. Deductive logic and reasoning, anticipated. Intuition in dealing with Garrus- unexpected. Any prior training in medical field?"

"Ahh…no," I said, slowly, moving into the lab and leaning on the midcounter. "Unless a spiritual course by hanar counts; but that was more meditation for combat purposes than anything else."

"As I assumed. Then, is, as expected, but also remarkably, pure talent."

"Talent?" I repeated, "What's 'talent'?"

"Talent in handling patients," Mordin repeated, sounding impatient, like I was slow on the uptake. "Xenobiology. Chops, as humans say. Know anything about alien physiology, psychology?"

"Quarians and turians are the only two dextro races, which means they can't eat food meant for levo species or mix body fluids with them, it causes a severe allergic reaction," I fired off. "Turian blood is blue because it contains hemocyanin rather than hemoglobin. Asari cellular regeneration is more robust, which does not cause them to heal faster, but does result in their thousand-year lifespan. The salarian metabolism runs at about four times that of a human's. The volus always need their suits because they hail from an ammonia-based atmosphere. Elcor are from a high-gravity environment, resulting in a very deliberate movement cycle, because a fall could mean death back home. Krogan and vorcha are the only species known to 'regenerate'; because they possess secondary, and, when applicable, tertiary organs. They're extremely hard to kill, and are easier brought down by utilizing fire or explosives." Mordin held up a hand to stop me. He seemed impressed.

"Assuming knowledge of culture is as extensive?"

"It'd take me hours to tell you all I know about the Migrant Fleet. You know, if you're up for that. Look, I just- I read up on this, on my down time, I hear things in my line of work and I get curious." I crossed my arms, frowning. "Just a hobby, I guess. Everyone needs one."

Mordin regarded me, frowning. "Analyzing Collector swarm samples currently; preparing cultures to test. Tedious job- usually know outcome, just checking work." He drummed his fingers on the surface. "Will be waiting on them in a few hours. Come by then? Will listen to all you have to know."

One could forgive me for being slightly dumbfounded; I spent a good few minutes trying to think of when anyone had ever been interested in listening to me blather for hours on end about xenobiology and alien culture. "Sure," I remembered to say, perhaps a beat too late to be considered a polite, conversational pause. "Right. I'll see you then, Professor Solus."

"Mordin."

I stopped in my retreat to the CIC, turning, holding his eyes. "Okay," I said, "Mordin."

"Will be here if you need me. Until later, Glenn," he said, turning to his work. I stayed at the door, watching him for another moment, before turning around and heading out onto the deck.


End file.
